


There's No Wrong Way To Eat A Victor

by Droewyn



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Aged-Up Hot Fudge, BRAINS NEED TO RESPECT SAFEWORDS TOO DAMMIT, But He's Being A Little Shit SOMEWHERE, Character Name Spelled as Veeqtur, Childhood Nostalgia Gone Horribly Wrong, Crack, Especially Writing This, Gratuitous Ring Sparkle, Happy Birthday Katsuki Yuuri, He Does Not Appear In This Fic, Inappropriate Use of a Trademarked Slogan, Intentional Food Puns, It is PAST ITS SELL-BY DATE, M/M, Major Condiment Death, My Husband Says He Is Kink-Shaming All Of Us, NOT vore, Or The Author, Phichit Chulanont is a Little Shit, So please stop sending hate, Technically Neither Was Victor, The Author Regrets Everything, The Dessert Toppings Were Not Given The Opportunity To Consent, The Official Ship Name Is Reecesforov, Unintentional Food Play, kidding, not that that's saying much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-09-02 10:38:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16785283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Droewyn/pseuds/Droewyn
Summary: Happy Birthday, Katsuki Yuuri!...I'm so,sosorry....





	There's No Wrong Way To Eat A Victor

“ _Mmm, Yuuri…_ ” Victor blinked into the darkness, a whisper of sultry laughter fading away to wherever dreams go once the dreamer has awakened. It was still night, without even a hint of morning glow visible through the window. Victor was warm and comfortable, and pleasantly sleepy.

And _hard_.

Once upon a time, he’d have taken himself in hand, joylessly meeting the needs of his body in the same way he had eaten whatever Yakov told him to, drank at least two liters of water every day, and obeyed a series of phone alarms to ensure that he’d have exactly eight-and-three-quarter hours’ of sleep each night.

More recently, Victor would let his eyes roam over Yuuri’s form while he pleasured himself, struggling to keep his breathing soft and his hips still so as not to disturb his sleeping beauty, his heart full to bursting with love for the man beside him. And then one night Yuuri had caught him at it, and informed him in no uncertain terms that Victor was to at least give him the option of watching, if he was too tired to actually help with the situation. 

The tie Yuuri had used to emphasize the point was still knotted to the headboard, in fact.

So it was really no decision at all to roll over and reach out, Yuuri’s name a throaty purr on his lips — only to encounter chill, empty sheets, smooth and unslept-in.

 _Again?_ Victor sighed in fond exasperation before rolling out of bed, the duvet falling away to expose his nudity as he rose. He hadn’t realized that Yurio commissioning “Katsudon” to choreograph this year’s programs was going to result in his husband going fully nocturnal. Yuuri said he’d always done his best thinking at night, but lately he’d been seeing too many sunrises from the wrong end. And retired or not, there had to be something deeply unhealthy about sleeping past noon every day.

Well, that was that, then. Yuuri clearly needed to be saved from himself. And Victor? His cock twitched, and he grinned in the darkness. Victor just needed Yuuri. Fucking each other’s brains out wasn’t just a fun idea anymore, it was a _moral imperative_. Practically a higher calling.

Someone call the Vatican and nominate Victor Katsuki-Nikiforov for sainthood.

The living room was shadowed, the only light coming from the kitchen where Yuuri had completely taken over the high-top bar. Sheets of loose-leaf were scattered everywhere, some crumpled into balls and others simply shoved aside, all covered in Yuuri’s neat handwriting. Diagrams, doodles, notations in three languages; four, if ballet terms counted as French. And gracing so many of the pages was a scrawled heart embracing two sets of initials, the adorable remnants of a teenage habit that Yuuri had blushingly explained he'd never managed to break himself of, and Victor wished that he never would.

Competing for counter space with the nascent free skate program was an assortment of junk food. Victor recognized much of it as coming from Yuuri’s Detroit-nostalgia stash; candy-colored soda in glass bottles and “cheese”-flavored popcorn that nearly glowed in the dark, it was so unnaturally orange. The open jar of peanut butter was a standard Russian brand, but the chocolate sauce (“Hot _fudge_ , Vitya!”) was definitely imported. He supposed that made the melting ice cream sundae at Yuuri’s elbow fusion cuisine.

 _Speaking of melting…_ If there was anything in the world more precious than a sleeping Katsuki-Nikiforov Yuuri, Victor was absolutely certain he didn’t need to know, because he wouldn’t be able to handle its power. The unruly hair, askew glasses, serene half-smile that wasn’t quite hidden by the sweater-clad arm Yuuri’s head was pillowed on… _I love you so much,_ zolotse. _I love you, I love you, I love you…_

“Yuuuuuuuuuuuri.” Victor’s voice was soft, the tone tender but with a hint of the edge that always seemed to make Yuuri’s breath hitch and darken his eyes. “It’s time to come to bed, _lyubov moya_.”

Yuuri’s nose wrinkled. Dark lashes fluttered, but then he snuggled deeper into the nest of his folded arms, burying his face and pushing the glasses off his head entirely. They clattered to the surface of the bar. An indistinct mumble emerged from the depths of the fuzzy sweater. “No’now, Vitya, ‘m working…”

At this point, a lesser man might have been discouraged. But then, a lesser man wouldn’t have Victor’s experience with coaxing Japanese Aces out of various depths of sleep, nor would they be aware of said Ace’s several physical weaknesses.

Such as the shell of an ear peeking out of messy black hair, completely unprotected and just _begging_ for attention.

Grinning in anticipation, Victor made his move. The plan was simple: sneak around behind his beloved and tease him into (hopefully) aroused wakefulness with breathy endearments and the most delicate of kitten licks. It was simple. Masterful. Foolproof.

Right up until his creeping foot came down on loose-leaf instead of tile and the paper shifted beneath his weight, sliding across the floor and taking Victor’s balance with it.

He toppled backwards with a yelp, scrambling for purchase but finding none amidst the sheets of rejected choreography. A last-ditch grab for the bar top resulted in his hand closing around a slender glass jar, almost uncomfortably warm to the touch. They went down together, the glass tipping crazily, and afterwards Victor could not have said whether the breath that rushed out of him was due to the force of his bare back hitting the cold kitchen floor, or from the nearly ten imperial ounces of — _microwaved! —_ premium milk-chocolate dessert topping that spilled directly over his crotch, engulfing his cock in sticky heat that coated his balls and ran down his perineum to pool on the tile beneath him.

Yuuri jolted awake at the racket, looking wildly around before he caught sight of his husband lying on the floor and gasped. “Victor! Oh my god, are you—?” 

He was flailing in his haste to climb down from the tall bar stool, and time slowed to a crawl as Yuuri’s arm begin to sweep outwards. Slowly, inexorably, and with all the grace and power of the danseur that he was, Yuuri backhanded the plastic peanut butter jar, wedding band gleaming bright under the overhead kitchen lights as the condiment slid toward the edge of the table. Yuuri’s eyes widened in realization. He started to shout a warning. And Victor wanted to close his own eyes, to move, to cry out, to do _anything_ , but the world was still frozen and he could only watch helplessly as the container sailed through the air with agonizing slowness, inverted, and finally impaled itself on his own fudge-covered dick, a sword sliding home into its destined sheath with majestic inevitability.

Time resumed its normal flow. Yuuri blinked down at Victor in shock. Victor blinked back up at Yuuri. The upside-down peanut butter jar visibly bobbed. 

“I—you—how—is that—are you?” Yuuri’s mouth snapped shut, words utterly failing him.

It was clearly up to Victor to salvage this situation. He put on the charmingly-roguish-yet-still-trustworthy-spokesman smile that he had perfected during the earliest part of his sponsorship days. “My love,” he murmured, “I think you’ve gotten your peanut butter in my chocolate.” And then he winked.

“ _Oh my god_.” Yuuri’s face twitched. He pressed his lips together. His shoulders started to shake.

Victor kept going, transitioning smoothly into Narrator Voice. “You know they’re two great tastes that—” He broke off as Yuuri erupted into laughter. Great, joyous peals of uncontrollable giggles that rocked his entire body and made his eyes tear up with mirth even as he knelt down beside his husband and started checking him for possible injury.

Without changing expression, Victor poked at the peanut butter logo with his index finger. The jar rocked backwards before bobbing back, a strange and obscene flag waving with no need of a breeze, and Yuuri _howled_.

“Oh my god,” he gasped again, clutching his sides. “Oh my god, how did this even _happen_? I can’t believe… _god_ … we have to clean you up!” Still snickering, Yuuri grabbed the peanut butter jar and gave it an experimental tug.

The plastic container didn’t move but _Victor_ did, his hips involuntarily jerking upward. Instantly sober, Yuuri blinked, his gaze turning speculative. He tried another gentle pull.

“ _Hnnnngh_ …”

Yuuri did his best to look scandalized, but mischief was tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Victor!” he gasped. “Is this,” he moved his wrist in a familiar motion, wringing another strangled sound and hip twitch out of Victor, “ _affecting_ you?”

“It’s _clinging_ to my _foreskin_ ,” Victor whined, a note of petulance creeping into his voice. Teasing was all very well and good, but even as a teenager he’d never had the urge to masturbate into a non-perishable foodstuff, and he certainly wasn’t going to start now that he was safely in his thirties. “Yuuri…”

Yuuri chuckled. “Spoilsport. All right, brace yourself, then.” The pressure was stronger this time, but steady, and Victor couldn’t help the moan that escaped as the sticky substance tried its best to keep hold of him. In vain this time, fortunately; it wasn’t long before the two men were able to stare thoughtfully at Victor’s still very erect and still very sugar-glazed penis. “Two great tastes that taste great together, huh?” Yuuri’s eyes were wide and almost luminously dark.

“Hmm.” By this point, Victor was utterly failing to sound nonchalant. “Well, it would be a shame if we had to throw out _all_ of your imported chocolate sauce…”

“You make an excellent point, Vitya.” Victor shivered. Yuuri looked as though his _eros_ switch had not only been flipped, but also soldered into place and the breaker box disabled. _This is how Victor Katsuki-Nikiforov dies,_ he thought in awe _._ Yuuri continued his musing. “Although, I’m pretty sure that I see at least _three_ ‘great tastes’ here. Four, if I manage to make it to the _creamy center_.” He swiped a finger through some of the mess on Victor’s stomach and brought it delicately to his tongue. “I suppose it’s my duty to taste-test, since no one else in the world can sample this particular flavor combination…” He was smiling as he took Victor into his mouth, peanut butter, chocolate, and all.

“Mmm,” he purred eventually, a blend of sweet, savory, and just the slightest hint of bitterness decorating the plush swell of his bottom lip. “ _Perfect_.”

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly wasn't sure whether to categorize this as Mature or Explicit. I chose M because while Victor's dick is brought up a few times, no actual acts are described in detail. If I am not correct in this analysis, *please* let me know.


End file.
